A few hours later Myra was one of a fashionable and interested crowd
watching the polo at Hurlingham. An exciting match was in progress,
and Myra cried out enthusiastically as one of the players, after a
thrilling mêlée, made a splendid shot, followed up, beat the defence,
and scored a magnificent goal.
"Oh, well played, sir, well played!" Myra exclaimed enthusiastically,
clapping her hands. "Who is he, Jimmy?" she added, turning to her
escort, who was also applauding. "Do you know him?"
"I was introduced to him at a dinner at the Spanish Legation the other
evening," her friend answered. "He's Governor of a Province, or
something of the sort, in Spain, and a most interesting chap. Told me
he spends most of his time out there hunting brigands and outlaws.
Speaks English perfectly, and is good-looking enough to be a film star.
Mentioned that he played polo and hoped to get a game to-day, but
didn't hint that he was a star performer. I've got a rotten memory for
names, but he's called Don Carlos de something-or-other." He consulted
his programme. "Ah! here we are! Don Carlos de Ruiz.... Look! he's
on the ball again. Well hit indeed, sir!"
At the end of the game Myra, at her own request, was introduced to Don
Carlos de Ruiz, who was smilingly receiving the congratulations of
English friends on his splendid play. At close quarters she found him
to be a man of about thirty-five, very handsome, with clean-cut
features, pale complexion, jet-black hair with a natural crinkle in it,
and dark, inscrutable eyes that gleamed like black diamonds.
"Delighted to meet you, señor," said Myra, deciding at first glance he
was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. "Congratulations
on the win. You played wonderfully."
"I am flattered and honoured, Miss Rostrevor," said Don Carlos, bowing
low over her hand. "Praise from the most beautiful woman in England is
praise indeed!"
He kissed her finger-tips, and Myra was conscious of an unusual thrill
as she involuntarily jerked her hand away.
"Obviously you have the equivalent of a Blarney Stone in Spain, Don
Carlos," she commented with a laugh, looking up into the bold dark eyes
that were regarding her with undisguised admiration. "Do you play much
polo in your own country, señor?"
"Alas, no!" Don Carlos answered. "My home is in the wilds of the
Sierra Morena, Miss Rostrevor, and one has few opportunities for
playing polo there. But we have good sport, nevertheless. We spend
much of our time hunting a notorious brigand known as El Diablo
Cojuelo, who plays hide-and-seek with us and defies capture. He
kidnaps all the most beautiful of our girls, robs our rich men, and
gives most of the proceeds of his robberies to the poor. The rascal
even had the audacity to capture me and hold me to ransom. I had no
alternative but to pay the price he demanded. Subsequently I led
troops into the mountains in search of him, but he had vanished into
thin air and has not since been seen. However, his disappearance and
the cessation of his activities have enabled me to take a holiday, and
I hope to spend some months in England. I fervently trust, Miss
Rostrevor, that I shall have the pleasure of meeting you often."
"Thank you," said Myra, greatly interested. "I thought brigands were a
thing of the past, and what you have told me makes me long to visit
Spain. It would be tremendously thrilling to be captured and held to
ransom by a Spanish brigand."
"Dear lady, if you were captured by El Diablo Cojuelo, all the riches
of the Indies would not ransom you," Don Carlos responded, with a smile
that showed a double row of gleaming white teeth. "Cojuelo is a
connoisseur of feminine beauty, and were he fortunate enough to capture
you, I feel certain nothing would induce him to part with you."
"There must certainly be the equivalent of a Blarney Stone in Spain,"
laughed Myra, nodding good-bye and turning away to rejoin her friends.
She met Don Carlos de Ruiz again that night at Lady Trencrom's dance,
looking handsome and distinguished in full evening kit, with medals and
orders in miniature glinting on his left lapel and a jewelled
decoration on his breast. He recognised her instantly, and made his
way masterfully through the crowd that surrounded her at the first
interval.
"I shall have the pleasure of the next dance with you, Miss Rostrevor?"
he said, and it struck Myra that his words were more by way of being an
assertion than a question or a request.
"Indeed, señor, and you won't," she retorted in her soft Irish voice.
"I'm dancing the next with my fiancé, Mr. Tony Standish. Here he is
coming now... Tony, my dear, this is Don Carlos de Ruiz, who plays
polo like an angel."
"Didn't know that angels played polo, but I'm pleased to meet you, Don
Carlos," drawled Standish. "Frightful crush, isn't it?"
"Miss Rostrevor was going to dance the next number with me, Mr.
Standish, but suddenly remembered she had promised to dance with you,"
said Don Carlos, with smiling sang-froid, as he shook hands. "If you
would be so good as to resign your right in my favour--"
He paused with a questioning glance at Tony, who looked a trifle
bewildered.
"Why--er--of course, if Miss Rostrevor so wishes," Tony said, just as
the band struck up; and before Myra quite realised what was happening
she found herself gliding round the room in the arms of Don Carlos.
"You certainly are not lacking in nerve, señor, and you apparently have
no regard for the truth," she commented, recovering from her
astonishment. "I never said I was going to dance with you."
"Sweet lady, I would perjure my soul for the privilege and pleasure of
dancing with you," Don Carlos responded, smiling down into her blue
eyes. "It is an honour and a delight to have for partner the most
beautiful and charming girl in England. You dance divinely, señorita,
and are light as thistledown in my arms. My soul is enchanted,
enraptured!"
"Away with your blarney!" exclaimed Myra, half-laughingly,
half-impatiently, but conscious of a queer little thrill as she met his
smiling glance. "Do you pay every woman you meet such fulsome and
extravagant compliments, señor?"
"No, señorita, I am a connoisseur," answered Don Carlos, his tone quite
serious but his black eyes twinkling. "And no compliment could be
extravagant if applied to you, dear lady. One would have to be a great
poet to find words to do justice to your beauty and charm."
He had a deep, musical voice which was infinitely attractive, and Myra
found herself more than a little fascinated, and felt that she could
listen to him all evening. But she tossed her red-gold head and
laughed lightly.
"Should I respond by telling you in honeyed words that you dance as
well as you play polo, and congratulate you on being a most delightful
conversationalist?" she inquired in bantering tones. "Please don't be
absurd!"
"Absurd?" repeated Don Carlos. "Sweet señorita, I am but speaking what
is in my heart. Never have I seen any woman to compare with you. You
are wonderful--my ideal! Do you believe in love at first sight?"
"It's surely daft the man is!" remarked Myra to the ceiling, before
looking again into the bright eyes of her partner. "Pardon me, Don
Carlos, but you are carrying your extravagant nonsense too far," she
added.
Don Carlos raised his dark eyebrows in mock-surprise and sighed heavily.
"How have I offended, señorita? I have but asked a question which you
have not answered. Let me explain that I have known women to fall in
love with me at first sight, but never before have I myself been a
victim."
"Sure, and it's a good conceit of himself the Don has, and he needs
taking down a peg or two," said Myra to herself. "I am afraid I don't
believe in love at first sight, Don Carlos, and the idea of any woman
falling in love with you at first sight only makes me feel inclined to
laugh," she said aloud. "Of course, the English conception of what
love is and means may be totally different from the Spanish."
"But you are not of the cold-blooded English," Don Carlos objected,
skilfully guiding her through the maze of dancers. "I have heard that
the Irish are as warm-blooded as the Latins, and can love and hate with
the same passionate intensity. You, I feel sure, dear lady, would be
capable of loving wonderfully were your heart really awakened. And
some instinct tells me it is I who will awaken your heart and kindle
the fires of passion dormant within you."
The words, spoken in a low, caressing tone, thrilled Myra anew, but she
made pretence of being shocked and offended.
"You flatter yourself, señor," she said, with a disdainful glance and a
note of contempt in her sweet voice. "Unless you are entirely ignorant
of English conventionalities, your remarks are unpardonable. Would you
care to repeat to Mr. Standish, to whom I am engaged to be married,
what you have just said?"
"Yes, if you so desire," responded Don Carlos calmly.
"Conventionalities--English or otherwise--do not concern me. I follow
the dictates of my heart in all things, and I am master of my own
destiny. Shall I tell your Mr. Standish that I fell in love with you
the first moment I saw you, and that I mean to take you from him by
hook or by crook?"
"I think you must be crazy!" exclaimed Myra, at heart just a little
scared, but more than a little fascinated. "Surely even in the wilds
of Spain it is considered dishonourable to attempt to make love to a
girl who is betrothed to another man?
"Not if one is prepared to fight the other man," Don Carlos replied,
with a sudden smile. "I am quite prepared to fight for you, believe
me. As for making love, dear lady, I have not even yet begun to make
love to you in earnest. My love is a raging torrent which will
overwhelm you and sweep you off your feet, a raging fire which will set
your heart aflame in sympathy."
"I'm thinking, Don Carlos, that you must be a bit Irish yourself to mix
up torrents and flames, and the sooner you let the torrent put your
fires out the better I'll be pleased," said Myra, with forced
lightness, after a pause, during which she decided it would be best to
treat the whole matter as a joke. "Incidentally, you are carrying your
jest too far, and I shall be seriously annoyed if you persist in this
nonsense."
"Even if I have mixed my metaphors, señorita, I assure you I have never
been more serious in my life," Don Carlos retorted. "May I call on you
to-morrow to convince you of that fact?"
"No, thank you, señor," answered Myra. "And if you are really in
earnest, I shall instruct the servants that I am never at home to Don
Carlos de Ruiz."
"You are cruel, dear lady, but I warn you I am not to be rebuffed,"
said Don Carlos. "Love will surely find a way."
The music ceased as he spoke, and Myra disengaged herself from his
encircling arm and darted away from him, glad to escape. She could not
have analysed her own feelings, and found herself at a loss to know how
to deal with the situation. To complain to Tony Standish seemed
futile. Tony, if she told him what had happened, would, of course, be
indignant and demand an explanation, and Myra felt sure in her own mind
he would come off second best if there was a scene and a personal
encounter.
"Sure, and is it frightened you are of the conceited Spaniard?" she
asked herself. "You've prided yourself on being a match for any man,
and being able to keep any ardent suitor at arm's length, and here you
are in a funk! It's ashamed of you I am, Myra Rostrevor!"
She did actually feel ashamed of herself for being so disturbed by Don
Carlos's extravagant words, and mentally decided she would snub him
severely at the first opportunity.
The opportunity presented itself sooner than she anticipated. Next
afternoon she strolled into her aunt's drawing room, and her heart gave
a queer little convulsive jump when she found Lady Fermanagh engaged in
animated conversation with Don Carlos.
"Myra, dear, I'm so glad you have come in," exclaimed her aunt. "Allow
me to introduce Don Carlos de Ruiz. Don Carlos, my niece, Miss Myra
Rostrevor."
Don Carlos was en his feet, and he bowed low smilingly.
"Miss Rostrevor and I have already been introduced, dear lady, but I
did not know the señorita was your niece," he said. "What a delightful
surprise! I had the honour of dancing with Miss Rostrevor last night
at Lady Trencrom's ball."
As on the previous night, Myra found herself somewhat at a loss. She
gave him her hand, and he bowed over it, holding it a moment longer
than necessary. At that moment a footman appeared at the drawing room
door.
"Pardon, your ladyship," he said. "The Countess of Carbis wishes to
speak to you on the telephone."
"Good! I particularly want to speak to her," said Lady Fermanagh,
rising. "Excuse me, Don Carlos. Myra, my dear, give Don Carlos some
tea."
Don Carlos laughed softly as the door closed behind her ladyship, and
his dark eyes were sparkling wickedly as he looked at Myra.
"Did I not warn you, sweet lady, that love would find a way?" he said.
"We have a proverb in Spain that the way to make sure of winning a girl
is to make love to her mother. As you have no mother, I made love last
night to Lady Fermanagh, who, I was told, is your guardian, and she
invited me to call. Hence my presence here. The fates are kind, and
now I can make love to you in earnest. Myra, darling, my heart is all
afire with love for you, and all my being is crying out for you."
Myra drew herself up to her full height, regarding him disdainfully and
endeavouring to put all the hauteur she could summon up into her manner
and expression.
"Here in England, Don Carlos, we call a man a cad who persists in
attempting to force his unwanted attentions on a girl," she remarked
icily. "I do not know if there is a Spanish equivalent for the word
cad."
"'Cad'? Let me think," drawled Don Carlos, seemingly not a whit
rebuffed, his dark eyes still twinkling mischievously. "In Spanish,
'cad' would be 'mozo' or 'caballerizo.' 'Caballerear' means to set up
for a gentleman. You must let me teach you Spanish, Myra. It is an
ideal language in which to make love. Let me tell you in Spanish that
I love you, that you are the most beautiful, adorable, fascinating and
seductive girl I have ever met, the loveliest and most enticing
creature ever created, the woman of my dreams, my ideal, and my
predestined mate."
"Let me tell you in plain English that you are the most impudent,
offensive and exasperating man I have ever met!" exclaimed Myra, shaken
by a gust of angry resentment. "I don't want to talk to you, señor,
and I repeat that you are behaving like a cad!"
Don Carlos sighed lugubriously and turned up his eyes to the ceiling.
"I am spurned!" he lamented, as if soliloquising. "I am desolated!
The most wonderfully beautiful girl in the world rebuffs me and calls
me a cad when I offer her my heart and the love for which many another
woman would barter her very soul! My Myra thinks I am the most
exasperating and impudent man in the world! Condenacion! Still, I
must be unique in one respect!" He lowered his eyes to look at Myra
again. "So this is English hospitality, señorita!" he resumed, after a
pause. "The Lady Fermanagh, your charming aunt, told you to offer me
tea, but not even a spoonful have you proffered me."
He assumed such an absurdly pathetic expression that Myra laughed in
spite of herself, and quite forgot to continue to be angry and offended.
"You are an utterly impossible person, Don Carlos," she commented,
dimpling into smiles. "Sit down and let me give you tea and anything
else you want."
"Ten thousand thanks, Myra!" cried Don Carlos. "How wonderful!
Anything else I want! The tea does not matter, but I want ten thousand
kisses from the woman who has entranced and enraptured my heart. I
want to hold you in my arms, Myra mine, clasped close to my breast, to
set your darling heart afire with burning kisses, to kiss the heart out
of you then kiss it back again all aflame with love and longing. Myra,
darling, I love you as I have never loved before, and I want you for my
wife."
He stretched out his arms as if to enfold Myra in them, but she evaded
him adroitly. She had been listening half-fascinated, conscious of the
spell of his personality, thrilled by the passionate tones of his deep,
musical voice, but she broke the spell and recovered herself in an
instant.
"Quite an effective piece of play-acting!" she remarked, forcing a
laugh. "You really should be on the stage, Don Carlos, or acting for
the movies. I feel sure you would be a success as a film actor, and
all the flappers would lose their hearts to you. Will you have some
tea?"
"Myra, I am not acting," Don Carlos protested, at last showing signs of
chagrin. "I am in deadly earnest. I love you and want you, and the
Devil himself will not prevent me from making you my own."
"His Satanic Majesty need not concern himself with the affair at all,
at all," retorted Myra, regarding him coldly. "Let me save him the
trouble by assuring you that your eloquent and melodramatic
protestations of love leave me cold, and your boast that no woman has
ever been able to resist you inspired me only with contempt for your
conceit. Let me remind you again, also, that I am engaged to be
married to Mr. Antony Standish, and assure you I have not the slightest
intention of transferring my affections from an English gentleman to a
Spaniard who evidently prides himself on being a sort of modern Don
Juan."
Don Carlos's face went white beneath the tan as he listened to the
scathing words, and a gleam of anger flashed into his dark eyes.
"You do me an injustice, and I think you are doing your own heart an
injustice, Myra," he said, in a curiously quiet voice, after a
momentary pause. "If----"
"I object to your calling me by my Christian name," Myra interposed
abruptly, intent on snubbing him. "May I remind you we met for the
first time yesterday. I can hardly imagine that in your own country
you would dare to call a girl 'Myra' a few hours after meeting her for
the first time."
"My dear Miss Rostrevor, I can lay my hand on my heart and assure you
on my word of honour that never in Spain have I ever called a girl
'Myra,' either within a few hours or a few years of our first meeting,"
said Don Carlos, his eyes beginning to twinkle again. "That may be
explained by the fact that I have never heard the name before. But I
think it is a charming name, which somehow fits you. Incidentally,
señorita, may I venture to point out that you have been addressing me
as 'Don Carlos,' instead of as 'Señor de Ruiz'? You have been calling
me by my Christian name."
"That was only because I thought 'Don' was a sort of Spanish equivalent
of 'Sir' in English," Myra responded, somewhat taken aback. "Here I
should address a Knight or a Baronet as 'Sir Charles' without the
slightest idea of being familiar, but I should not expect him to
respond by addressing me as 'Myra.' Do I make myself plain?"
"Dear lady, you could never make yourself plain, you who are so
beautiful, but you are explicit," answered Don Carlos with a radiant
smile that made him look quite boyish. "I stand rebuked, Myra, but I
am impenitent. Surely one is not committing a crime by calling the
girl one loves by her Christian name? I would prefer to call you cara
mia or querida, which are the Spanish equivalents for my beloved and
sweetheart, but, of course, as you seem to think I----"
"Señor de Ruiz, I have had enough of this nonsense!" Myra interrupted,
impatiently. "Your attempts at love-making are utterly distasteful,
and if you imagine you are going to add me to your list of conquests
you are a case for a mental specialist."
"Alas!" exclaimed Don Carlos, and again sighed heavily. "You seem to
think I am a sort of mountebank who makes a hobby of paying court to
women. You misjudge me, Myra. True, I have made love to women before,
true, many have fallen in love with me and thrown themselves at my
head--as you say in English. True----"
"You are boasting again," interposed Myra once more. "I have no desire
or inclination to listen to an account of your amorous conquests."
"But you must listen, Myra," said Don Carlos earnestly. "You misjudge
me. True, there have been many women in my life, but not one who
inspired love, not one to whom I offered my heart, not one whom I had
any wish to marry. Long ago it was foretold by a gipsy gifted with
second sight that I should meet my fate in my thirty-fifth year in a
foreign land, meet my ideal, the woman of my dreams. That prophecy has
come true. The moment our eyes first met yesterday I knew you were the
woman for whom I had been seeking and waiting. It is useless to fight
against destiny, Myra. I shall win you by hook or by crook, and make
you all mine."
"That sounds like a challenge, Don Carlos," retorted Myra with forced
lightness. "As you believe in gipsy forecasts, however, let me tell
you that a gipsy woman 'read my hand' a few years ago, warned me to
beware of a tall, dark man, and foretold that I should marry a tall,
fair man. If she was right, you are obviously the tall, dark man of
whom I am to beware, just as Tony Standish is the man I am destined to
marry."
"Pouf! I pay no heed to the foolish prattle of so-called gipsy
fortune-tellers," said Don Carlos, smiling again. "The seer who
foretold that I should meet and win you was King of the Spanish
Gypsies, and his every prophecy comes true."
"Well, to make his prophecy come true as far as you are concerned, Don
Carlos, you will have to fall in love with someone other than me,"
responded Myra. "Hadn't you better have some tea, señor?"